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His hand freezes, then falls away as understanding gives way to grief. To save his brother, he might lose me.

Without looking back, I continue toward the hollow stag.

It approaches, its former rage spent, a creature completing its final task before surrender. Each step it takes leaves crystalline footprints, marking its passage through the grove.

It lowers its massive head toward me, antlers forming a barrier of crystal around us. Within this space, magic thickens until it’s almost visible, swirling between us.

I raise my palm, the blood tattoo a vivid purple. Elionn’s sigil, binding us together, calling him home. The Opal fragment inside me flares brighter, sending pain lancing through my body.

I welcome it, embracing the transformation.

“I accept what you offer,” I say to the stag, though the words leave my tongue with a foreign cadence, as if someone else speaks through me. “And what you ask in return.”

The stag’s Opal heart pulses brighter in response, its rhythm matching mine perfectly. Through this connection, I catch glimpses of what it guards, the last fragments of the Opal King’s consciousness, the final memories of a court that gave home to its people after they fled Underhill. Within those memories lies what broke it, what shattered the balance between courts and set them on paths of isolation and slow decline.

I reach toward the stag’s lowered antlers. One touch will seal the bargain and transfer the burden from this ancient guardian to me, channeling the court’s remaining power through my transformed body.

I may not survive as the woman I was, but Elionn will live. The Opal Court will stabilize, and healing for all of the fae realm can finally begin.

My fingers tremble as they brush the stag’s antler just as a cold voice slices through the silence.

“Now!”

Kelaros’s command shatters the sacred moment.

Hidden light spears snap into the hands of the Dark guards as they surge forward, their weapons aimed not at the stag but at me.

34

TREASON IN THEIR HANDS

THERON

Horror floods through me as the guards surround us.

The stag rears back, its antlers catching the light as crystal spikes erupt from its spine.

“Stop!” My command rings across the crystalline grove, but the guards continue their advance with weapons raised.

Light catches the stag’s translucent body, refracting into painful spectrums that dance across the trees. Its massive form shudders, antlers tilting skyward as it recoils from the burning beams.

The creature’s empty sockets fix on me with ancient awareness before swinging back to Amalia.

Thalindor reacts before I can, his mirror-shield rising to deflect a spear thrust aimed at Amalia’s back. The impact reverberates through the air and fills my bones with dread.

“Protect Amalia Wolf,” I order him, drawing my own blade. Silver magic flows from my fingertips along the metal, coating it with freezing power.

Two guards rush toward me, weapons slicing arcs through the still air. My blade meets the first with the sound of winter ice breaking. Silver spreads from the point of contact, crawling up his weapon and onto his arm. He screams as frost forms across his armor, locking joints and freezing him mid-stride.

The second guard falters at the sight, and the moment of uncertainty costs him. My blade sweeps low, and Silver crawls across the floor beneath him, encasing his feet and legs. His body topples backward, weapon clattering to the ground.

“Silver King,” Kelaros calls from the perimeter of the clearing with almost pleasant civility. “You fight for the wrong side.”

He stands with arms folded, watching the chaos unfold, no weapon in his hands, no armor protecting his slender form. Only his dilated pupils betray his excitement as he follows every movement with hunger.

“Call them off,” I command, advancing toward him.

“This was the plan, Silver King.” Smug satisfaction coats every word. “Why would I stop what I came here to do?”